(no subject)

[noteful]

[OOM-but-not, a few minutes earlier, you needed the rest.]

Meg Ford has looked better.

She has also looked worse, and recently.

Her right arm is still in its sling, she hasn't lost the air of anxiety, but she no longer looks like she's about to fall over.

Angel-induced naps do wonders for fatigue.

Meg chooses a table near the door, orders a cheese omelet, toast with jam, a peach, and mint tea. As far as she can tell, it's morning neither here nor at home, but she just woke up, and she if she has to eat, she wants something breakfasty.

And she has to eat, because she promised Castiel she would.

So she's here for however long it takes to eat an omelet, two pieces of toast, and a peach.

And only for as long as it takes to eat an omelet, two pieces of toast, and a peach.

Comments

[parkerlee]

Parker had not been specifically looking for Meg. And she certainly was not expecting to see her like this.

"Meg. Meg?"

Parker looks a little agahst.

"Sweetie, what happened?"

[noteful]

"We were in an accident, and Milliways decided to turn up in the hospital, and then an angel made me take a nap, and now I'm eating not really breakfast before I go back," Meg says.

That covers most of the bases, right?

[parkerlee]

A succinct, if wildly confusing, explanation.

"Whoa, whoa. Back up. Who is we?"

[noteful]

Right. One question at a time.

"Alain and I. On the way back to Montreal, from my parents' house.

"We were in the right lane and the car in the left lane swerved to miss something, I don't know what, and . . . didn't see us."

[parkerlee]

"Oh, my God."

Parker slides into the seat across from Meg.

"But you're okay, right?"

Worse for wear, but up. Coherent. Eating. All good things.

[noteful]

"Not really," Meg says.

"I mean, physically, yes. The shoulder was dislocated, the concussion was mild, the cuts didn't require stitches.

"But . . ." Meg closes her eyes for a second.

"Alain's been unconscious for nearly a day."

[parkerlee]

"Meg. Oh, honey."

Parker is not a doctor (nor does she play one on TV) but she knows that can't be good.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

[noteful]

"I don't know," Meg says.

There's a part of her that feels like she ought to be able to think of something Parker can do, just . . . just so that Parker will have something to do, and how insane is that?

"Dad and Mom are there, and Kim's on her way, and Alain's parents and his brother. So I'm not alone or anything."

Any more.

"We're just waiting."

[parkerlee]

Parker nods.

She doesn't want Meg to have to focus any energy on her. But Meg is her friend--she had to offer.

"You want me to keep you company?"

[cutting_edgex23]

"Meg," X says, settling down at her friend's table.

She did not try very hard to be silent.

Mostly because it would be bad if Meg were startled. Probably.

"You are better?"

[noteful]

"Laura."

Meg looks down at her sling and tries to make the question make sense.

Better? Than what? Than when?

She shakes her head.

"Not really, no."

[cutting_edgex23]

"Oh."

She is silent for a few long moments, considering her next question.

"You have not left again? Yet."

Beat.

"Castiel explained. While you were sleeping."

[noteful]

"Oh."

The question makes more sense, now, at any rate.

Meg shakes her head.

"No, I haven't left yet.

"I'll go back when I'm done eating."

[cutting_edgex23]

X flicks a quick glance at Meg's food, and her progress in consuming it.

"Okay."

Beat.

"I -- Alain will be okay?"

[noteful]

Meg's grip on her fork tightens for a second.

"We don't know yet," she says, quietly.

It's composed, because the alternative is that it's not composed, and Meg doesn't have time for not composed right now.

[cutting_edgex23]

"If -- "

X breaks off, frowning slightly.

"You can find me again. If it is not okay."

Beat.

"Elixir is a healer. He can help. In San Francisco."

By hook or by crook. Or maybe X will recruit Hank. Or --

[noteful]

Meg somehow doubts there's any practical way to get Alain to San Francisco.

In another world.

In another year.

But she just nods. "Thank you."

For the offer, and for thinking to make it, and for trying to find a solution.

Even if Meg doesn't think it will work.

[themidnightson]

"Good evening, Meg." Is far more even and calm sounding that the space of the minute before it, spent even trying to figure out those words to say.

[noteful]

Hello, Edward.

Meg looks up from her quasi-breakfast and . . . well, there's a shift to her expression, but only the most generous sorts would call it a smile.

I hope you don't mind if I talk with my mouth full, but I'm kind of in a hurry.

How much have you already heard?

[themidnightson]

He made a motion with his hand for her to keep eating.

"Enough." Is the simple answer, isn't it?

[noteful]

Meg nods.

Okay, then.

In some ways, it's easier than having to tell him.

And in others . . .

I'm very sorry you'll have to remember all this, too.

Because she wouldn't wish her thoughts on anyone right now.

[themidnightson]

Edward scoffed, a quiet surprised sound.

"You have better things to be concerned about than my memory. But if you'd like to be conceding sympathy for it, I'm sure I can drudge up something worse for it. Like whole sections of eighties music videos."

[noteful]

"That's my era's music you're dissing, there, Edward."

Though to be fair, some of it deserves it.

"Sorry, it's been a very . . . difficult day."

Or whatever the correct term is, since Milliways has blown her way past 24 hours, now.

[themidnightson]

He considers about twelve different responses.

Trite. Agreeing. Unrelated, even. Before settling.






"Did the sleep help?" He wouldn't actually know this one.

[noteful]

"It did," Meg says. "I feel a lot less sore and it's easier to think."

She picks up her toast.

But I've also told him never to do it again.

Without permission.